Eternal Hollow
by Prayer Machine
Summary: Alois Trancy's body is lying on the dining room table. Hannah waits forever for nothing. Claude sees the world for what it is, and it is an eternal hollow. / Eventual Hannah/Claude.
1. Sleep

There were three things wrong with the room.

First, the dust gathering on the counters was starting to become far more than noticeable. Unacceptable.

Secondly, Hannah was sitting on the other side of the room, lounging around as though there was no work to be done. Disappointing.

Thirdly, Alois Trancy's lifeless corpse was lying in the centre, sprawled out over the dining table, and it was starting to smell. Disgusting.

"I'm surprised," Claude said, sounding as unsurprised as could possibly be. "Shouldn't you have moved on? The boy's soul is gone. Your obsession quashed."

Hannah slowly turned her head, fingers playing through her hair. "I could tell you the same thing. Aren't you hungry, demon?"

"What reason would I have to leave? I have been a Trancy butler for many generations. This garden, this manor, has always been mine." He tilted his head. "You are the intruder."

She remained impervious, finally pushing her hair behind her back and neatly clasping her hands together on the table. "Until he sheds his very last flake of skin, until his heart has shrivelled away into dust, until his bones have all gone away – I will not leave my Master's side."

"Fascinating." He adjusted his glasses. "Your obsession runs so deep, Anafeloz. That rotten soul has truly poisoned you. Do you think the reaper did a poor job? Perhaps you'll be able to suck some scraps out of his marrow." A smirk squirmed across his face, "Come now, I am only trying to give you _hope_. There's no need to look at me like that."

Claude moved forwards, extending a hand towards the corpse. Hannah flinched in her seat, fingers unclasping. Still, she permitted the touch, watching as his fingers danced over her Master's face. He slid them upwards, towards the hollow of his eye.

"Five demons, and not one good enough to stop the candle pin pushing into his brain." He drew a circle around that half-shut hole, as though he was massaging it. "Such a pity, your Highness. Whatever could have driven you to that madness?" He lifted a piece of his straw hair, brushing it over the killing wound. "Could you have been trying to tell us something, by taking your life through your eye? Could you hear your little brother's cries whenever she was in the room? Could that have tormented you, brought you to this simple conclusion? Could it be that you were blaming Hannah?"

The slap knocked his head back. But, he had allowed it, after all.

"His brother doesn't _cry _around him. He loves him, _I _love him. He killed himself because of you, because he cried out for the love you could never, ever, ever give him. " Hannah leaned forwards, lifting up that corpse, cradling it like a mother and babe. She brushed his hair, brought her lips to his forhead. How dazzling those lips were, reflecting the night sky. Limitless. Empty. "Don't touch him. Never touch him again. If you do…" She glanced up at him with that one cold eye. "I won't hesitate to kill you."

Claude pulled back a chair, sitting himself in front of her. He knitted his fingers together in front of his chin. How strange, how utterly strange. If only Hannah were human. This kind of obsession, so deep, so burning, so fierce – what a way to spice a soul. Controllable, too – quite easy to draw out the most intense of passions. She'd have been quite the meal.

But alas, she was as hollow as the eye Alois had bored out.

Reaching out, he placed his hand on her face. He could feel her heat even though his gloves, as though her blood was rushing to meet him, drawn to his mere touch. Her eye wilted, her mouth crumpling.

"And how, Hannah Anafeloz, do you plan on doing that?" His fingers crawled over her face, softening her, patiently asking for her to open up. "With that sword? But how, how on Earth could a sheath learn to wield what is buried deep inside of it?" He leaned his head forwards, lips hovering over the little dead boy's. "No, I think only a hand can do that." Though her lips bloomed, the purple gate baring itself for all the world to see – he withdrew his fingers. Instead, he brought them to Alois's face, tilting it's sullen chin.

"My Highness, Hannah says she is going to kill me for doing this. But this is all you've ever wanted, isn't it?" He drew his fingers over it's lips. "Shhh, shh. It will all be alright, My Highness. She won't hurt me, not while you still want this. She loves you too much to ever hurt you. Even when it suffocates you. I know, I know."

"You're sick," she said. Such venom. So much fight in her.

"Yes." Claude leaned forwards, hanging above those wrinkled lips. "Your Highness is very sick." He craned his head, glancing towards her. "I think it is time for his bed. He will need plenty of rest."

He brought his arms forth, cradling it. "Now give him to me, Hannah. You know he prefers if I take him to bed."

She stared, just stared, open eyed. Dull. Thinking of some way to defy this. And yet, as soon as her mouth opened – he stuffed words down her throat.

"Don't worry." His voice softened into a whisper. "I'll make sure to kiss him goodnight." His grin was cold. "Just to make sure."

He wrenched the corpse away, turning his back on her.

"He should have hated you."

Her words were like rainwater.

"I wish he hated you."

He tuned her out, and made his way out of the room.


	2. Games

Hannah was still here. It seemed her obsession was true, after all. Even her triad of demon lackeys stayed to keep her company – though he could hear their vulgar whisperings about how she had completely lost her mind. He was sure they would soon scatter like rats realizing that the cheese had been poisoned. Poor Hannah, though. Such a strange poison she had swallowed.

Alois sat in the garden. His head flopped up towards the sky. Summer was fast approaching, and it wouldn't be long until the foxgloves were out. Bees buzzed, butterflies flitted, birds sang. All these things simply passed Alois by – and yet there Hannah was, kneeling by his side and picking bugs out of his clothing.

"What are you doing here, spider? Returning to your web?"

She craned her head, blinked. Stared right through him. Oh Hannah, if only you could be more creative in your insults. Barring her obsession, she truly was a _dull _creature.

"No." He walked towards her, a breeze barely registering on his skin. "I came to see how the young Highness was doing. He's spent an awfully long time with you today."

She looked away, back to picking out bugs, it seemed.

"And he hasn't screamed for me, not once? My, he's been acting very out of character, lately. How ill must he be?"

She brushed his legs one last time, before sitting herself beside him on the bench. Slowly, she stretched out her arms, before resting her hands on her head, massaging it. "You've become very talkative, Claude."

Well. There was no reason to reply to that. Slip back into your character, why not. Make her feel like she's caught your tongue.

Claude slipped round beside them, sitting on the opposite side of Alois. Remarkable, the stench of rot was beautifully plastered over with such sweet scented perfumes. His Highness had probably _never _smelled so good.

"You're preserving him."

Hannah tutted, "Taking _care _of him."

"Does this mean you will never leave? Do you really enjoy my company _this _much, Hannah?"

She laughed, just a little, just a squeeze. "And now you're making jokes. Are you quite sure you aren't the one who's sick?"

"In all your years, have you ever heard of a demon with so much as the _cold?_"

She seemed to genuinely consider this. But her voice came out drenched in mirth, "I wonder why that is. Is it because your kind is already filled to the brim with sickness?"

He sighed at this, not audibly, but with his nostrils flared and breath being _squeezed _out between his teeth. How _tedious. _"No matter how much you try and run from it, you will _always _be a demon."

Claude could hear the canaries twitting in the distance, gold streaking that too blue sky. He would have to feed them, later. And water the plants. And dust the manor. A limitless list of tasks, stretching down into the infinite well of pointlessness. Much like Hannah, really.

"And you will hunger, soon. Surely this obsession can only fill your belly for so long."

"Just be quiet," she said – not even a bit of bite to her voice. She closed her eyes, going as silent as her dear, dead companion. "Alois is trying to hear the birds."

So Claude went back to staring at the heavens, listening. Even riling her was rapidly losing its appeal. Perhaps he should leave the garden, this house to her. It wouldn't be long until the boy's uncle came sniffing around. Whatever would she do, then? Wind strings around its hands and make it dance?

"When are you going to do it, Hannah?"

She stirred, glowering at him. "What are you talking about?"

"When are you going to kill me?"

She lowered her voice, wrapping it in a hiss, "I thought we agreed not to talk about this in front of master?" She lifted a hand, brushing it through Alois' hair. "This kind of thing only upsets him."

"Ah, but my Highness is the exact reason you will kill me, or have you forgotten your threat?" He leaned forwards, putting a hand on its knee. "I'm touching him, and I'm still not dead."

"You're _upsetting him, Claude." _She bundled him into her arms, his own flopping uselessly against the bench. "We'll discuss this _tonight._" She flinched, glancing down at the corpse. "I'm so sorry, Master. Shh, shh, no. We're only playing. It's a fun game, you see. All a silly game."

Such gentle strokes of her hands, a motherly rhythm she's surely never had the chance to learn. She was far too good at acting. Far too good at pretending.

"… I shall go prepare the master's afternoon tea."

How far would she go, with this? How far would he? He smirked.

"Yes. That would be a good idea." Claude stood and she touched its head again. "Earl Grey, yes?"

…

What a ridiculous game this was.

Claude touched his hand to his chest, bowing.

"Of course, your Highness." 


	3. Taste

Alois had finally been tucked into bed, putting up far less of a struggle than usual. His skin was miraculously still supple. If he willed it for long enough, he was sure it would feel _warm _from the inside out. Whatever Hannah was doing was certainly working, the boy seemed hardly dead at all.

Of course, there was still the gaping wound around his eye – and even though she'd wrapped it in bandages, he'd cut them off more than once to stare into the tiny gouge. Such a small hole, framed in flesh. Humans were truly such fragile little things, defeated by holes the size of pinpricks.

Claude sat on the bed for a long time. Just like he used to, waiting for his master to drift off into sleep. But there was no use waiting. Alois would not scream or cry if he left. He would not wail about the darkness or drive his nails into the back of his neck and threaten punishment. He would not cuddle up onto his arm, would not lay himself on his back and rub his disgusting, worshipped feet all over him in some desperate gambit for attention. No, even if Hannah could somehow bring back his heartbeats, the sound of his lungs expanding and folding, or even the scent of his ever fluctuating soul – Alois would never seem truly alive unless he was being an incredulous, irritating little brat.

"I do wonder where the reapers took you."

The lump under the blankets remained a lump.

"Has God finally taken mercy on you?" He smirked, drawing Alois' fingers onto his lap, intertwining them. "Such a sordid life. Such a wretched one." He tilted his head, watching the way its fingers bent and moved without a hint of resistance. My, look how far back he could bend them. "Would He let you into Heaven, my Highness? I wonder how long it would take Him to regret that." It wouldn't be needing that ring, anymore. Claude slipped it off and into his pocket. A memento, perhaps.

"You're the first soul that's gotten away from me. Such a clever boy, you were..."

… Well, that was a lie, really.

"Such a determined, forceful soul. Cold one minute, hot the next. Would your taste have changed in my mouth? Bitter and salty laced with ambrosia? It was your _potential, _my Highness, that kept me ever eager." He moved his finger up Alois' arm. "And now you have no potential at all. What a _waste _you are."

A hand, up across its neck. Up to its mouth. Pull it open.

"How long has it been since I saw you writing in this very bed, your soul being pumped full of despair and agony? I watched you, from my spiderweb, waiting for you. Waiting so _eagerly _as I watched what you allowed to happen." He leaned closer, pressing his head against Alois' neck, closing his eyes. "I remember how _hungry _I was. How much you made me _ache. _Burn, even. How exciting you were, how much _promise _you held." He opened his mouth, sighed. "I should have eaten you then, my Highness. After I killed that man. You'd still be undercooked, but you would have been so fresh. Still sticky with despair, still craving vengeance, still without that awful disease that had begun to rot your soul."

He tilted Alois' chin, brought it towards him, imagined his breath – even his breath – laced with that beautiful, beautiful _taste. _And then he kissed him. Felt those sour, dry lips be pulled and sucked uselessly by his own. And then he slipped his tongue into that empty cavity, felt its own tongue rest without even the hint of a struggle, without even a single hint of _anything. _But oh, oh _he wanted, _he wanted there to be the shift in his bones, the familiar clawing, the held back screeching as he sucked out the meat and the marrow of a person's most precious soul. He wanted, imagined, as he closed his eyes and drew his tongue down, down, down Alois' throat – he imagined the taste of his wretched soul. Of it rushing up to meet him, of his tongue bathed in it completely, of every sense going haywire, of every inch ablaze, of feeling _so alive _all while lapping and lapping and lapping and whining and begging for _m o r e._

But there was none of that, just the hideous taste of uncooked meat. Even the texture was bland and bumpy and unappealing, and so Claude sucked his tongue back into his mouth, pulling away from Alois. Stared in disgust at the salvia on his chin, of the wetness now coating the dead thing's lips.

"Tch."

He stood, brushing himself down.

"You really were such a waste."

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Aha, sorry that not much has really gone _forwards _yet, in terms of plot. I hope you're enjoying it, regardless. C:**


End file.
